


Ticket To Ride

by smokeopossum



Series: Ticket to Ride [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Bathroom Sex, Consensual Groping, F/F, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Train Sex, mild exhibitionism, surprise this is smut, the rival media company au nobody asked for, these hands are only capable of creating filth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-15
Updated: 2016-11-15
Packaged: 2018-08-31 03:09:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8561296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smokeopossum/pseuds/smokeopossum
Summary: For the past three months, Lena Oxton has been flirting with a beautiful Frenchwoman on her way to and from work.
... Well. Not quite flirting.
Flirting implies they’ve done much speaking.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i have literally no explanation for this but it sure did happen. i sure did write it. and now it's here  
> another "it's an AU please don't question things" (do you see a pattern yet) but with way more AU in it this time. why are they rival media companies? what city does this take place in? what the hell kind of subway system is this? i don't know my dude this is smut focus on the smut  
> not too much french in this one so you're on your own for translations if you need them

For the past three months, Lena Oxton has been taking the subway to and from her new job as a junior reporter at the internet media company known as Overwatch.

It took a bit to figure out which line went where (D in the mornings to work, G at night to get home,) when they stopped running (she waited for the D again nearly an hour the first time before realizing her mistake,) and the best time to beat the work rush (there is none, just pray everyone’s got their deodorant on that day,) but it’s not so bad. It’s often cramped, usually uncomfortably warm, and if she’s forgotten her headphones, horribly noisy, but it’s safer, easier on the wallet, (mostly) dependable, and much less stressful than any other form of transportation.

And there’s maybe another reason she prefers it.

For the past three months, Lena Oxton has been flirting with a beautiful Frenchwoman on her way to and from work.

... Well. Not quite flirting.

Flirting implies they’ve done much speaking.

For the past three months, Lena Oxton has been _getting groped by_ a beautiful Frenchwoman on her way to and from work.

It’s like flirting, but with your hands!

When she mentions it to Winston, her longtime pal and current Overwatch section editor, he puts his face in his hands and doesn’t say anything for a good minute.

“... You don’t even know her _name?_ ”

“Well, no. She’s not much of a talker, only ever really hear her say hello, but she’s gorgeous, mate.”

“For _three months?_ ”

“Reckon it’s been about that long, yeah. Ever since I got this job, which I really can’t thank you enough for, Winston, it’s been marvy.”

He grunts, looking bashful, and turns to try to return to his work.

“... Seriously though, absolutely drop dead gorgeous - tall, dark skin, dark hair, tattoos, _really_ good with her hands. She kissed my neck once and I came right there in the--”  
  
“Lena, don’t you have a _deadline_ to meet?”

“Right-o! Should get to that before Satya tears me a new one. Thanks for the reminder!”

She hadn’t even gotten to the good bits yet, and sodding _hell_ have there been some _good bits._

Honestly, every bit has been a good bit, ever since it all started.

* * *

 

She’d finally gotten the hang of the underground, cramming herself into the overloaded morning car with her eyes still bleary from sleep. She noticed the woman immediately, beautiful and poised as she stood amongst the sea of irritable office workers, and sidled up next to her under the excuse of grabbing the pole nearby. If she had to describe the woman’s style, she’d probably go with corporate chic - black pencil skirt, lavender blouse, long hair tied back in a high ponytail, a pair of low heels - more professional than Lena’s outfit of an untucked button-up and a pair of tights, certainly.

_Doesn’t hurt to start the day off by looking at a pretty woman on the way to work,_ Lena had thought, briefly meeting her eyes with a cheerful smile and a quiet “g’mornin’.”

“Bonjour,” she had politely replied, those brilliant golden eyes dropping down her body and back up before returning to the tablet in her hand, a faint smile on her lips. It was obvious she had checked her out, sending a flutter through Lena’s chest. _Definitely a good way to start the morning._

The train had gone around a bend then, and a cold hand touched at her hip as the passengers swayed with it.

Lena glanced back at her with a small smile, leaning into it perhaps a bit more than strictly necessary. The woman barely looked up, but her lips gave a slight curl of amusement.

On the next bend, it slipped down and gave her rump a tentative pat. Lena bit her lip and looked around the cart - no one seemed to have noticed anything out of the ordinary happening - and let herself rock her hips back against the hand. She cast another glance at the woman with a curious arch of her brow and a mischievous smirk, then sucked in a quiet gasp as the hand then firmly squeezed at her backside.

It stayed there the rest of the ride, affectionately kneading and petting at Lena through her tights until they reached her stop.

“Have a good day,” she mumbled as she left, face warm as the phantom sensation of a hand on her ass followed her out of the car. She looked back as the doors closed and met the woman’s gaze through the glass, heart thudding as she watched her slowly lick her painted lips.

It replayed in her mind’s eye until she found herself at the office.

When she boarded the G train hours later, she was surprised to see the same woman again.

“Hullo again,” she chirped, smiling as she saw the recognition flicker in her eyes. The car was once again crowded, but not so crowded she couldn’t weasel her way closer, just on the off-chance she was lucky enough for a repeat performance. The woman didn’t respond with anything besides a nod, and for a moment Lena was disappointed. No harm then, it was just a cheeky bit of fun for the morning, that’s alright.

Then the hand picked up exactly where it left off, groping as if there had been no break since that morning.

Lena pressed her lips together to keep herself quiet as the strange woman enjoyed herself, shivering as her hand dipped lower to pet at the backs of her thighs in between squeezing at her rear. The car swayed with a turn and the hand trailed along the inside of a thigh, scandalously high, close enough to no doubt feel the heat radiating from Lena’s center.

She heard the woman make a pleased noise, an interested, curious hum while she rubbed her thumb even higher, barely grazing her between the legs. Lena’s eyes fluttered shut briefly, cheeks warming, and she squeezed a little tighter at the pole to try and steady herself. The thumb rubbing circles against her inner thigh crept higher and higher with every cycle until it gently brushed against her mound, petting back and forth along the seam of her tights, nails teasingly dragging up and down her thigh.

“You enjoy this,” was breathed against her ear, less a question and more of a statement waiting to be confirmed. The woman’s thumb teased along her slit through the tights, nudging at her clit.

Lena swallowed sharply, not trusting herself to not moan if she opened her mouth, and nodded.

She wasn’t expecting the rest of the woman’s hand to turn and cup her between the legs, giving her a squeeze. She bucked into her palm in surprise, biting her lip to stifle the whine that threatened to escape and alert their neighbors. Her heart raced - was she seriously letting this stranger fondle her sensitive bits on the train? And _enjoying_ it?

Cool fingers mashed against her clit and dragged back along her mound on the way to grope her ass some more, rubbing her damp panties against her heated center. Lena hadn’t realized how _wet_ this had been making her. A quiet chuckle came from behind her as the woman repeated the action, fingers grinding between her legs, the laughter sending a sharp bolt of heat through her.

The train slowed for the next stop and the hand retreated back to her hip with a fond squeeze - with a start, Lena realized it was her stop.

“Haveagoodevenin’,” she whispered in a rush, unsure if she imagined the woman murmuring “bonsoir,” after her.

Again, she looked back, and again, she caught the woman’s eye as the doors closed, reddening at the smirk she sent after her.

She hurried home, cringing at the feel of her underwear sticking to her with every step.

* * *

 

And so it continued - Lena would board the subway, smile at the woman, and spend her commute getting fondled. Usually between the legs, sometimes at the chest, but always over the clothes. She’d spend her mornings squirming at her desk, her afternoons watching the clock, and her evenings flushed and horny. Sometimes she could barely wait to run home to wank if the woman was particularly handsy that day, or particularly attractive that day, or if she said anything to Lena in that low, smoky French voice of hers that day...

She masturbated a lot, alright?

She’s also not quite sure why she didn’t expect things to escalate.

A month in, when they had settled into their strange routine, Lena boarded after work one evening to find the car surprisingly empty. Not TOO empty, of course, but enough so that there were actually seats available. The Frenchwoman was sitting, legs primly crossed, the seat near the window beside her empty; Lena caught her eye and she patted it in offering.

Her stomach twisted as she sat down. The doors closed, the train began to move, and the woman’s hand immediately fell to her thigh, squeezing and letting her fingers brush between Lena’s legs. She seemed to be reading a book, not even looking over at Lena as she touched her, even as her hand slowly slid higher.

Long fingers caught the zipper of Lena’s trousers and easily tugged it down, slipping into her fly and beginning to tease at her already damp underwear.

“Oh,” Lena breathed out quietly, eyes darting wildly around the cart - how has nobody noticed? Not a single passenger glanced their way as the woman rooted around in her trousers, feeling her warmth and the soft, bare skin of her thighs.

Her heart pounded in her throat, and as if watching from the outside, she saw herself spread her legs just the slightest bit wider.

Painted nails scratched up her thighs and teased at the crotch of her panties in reward, tender touches to the damp fabric slowly graduating to firm rolls of her fingers, feeling the slick slide of the cotton against her mound. It was already enough to get Lena squirming, but it didn’t stop there.

The fingers traveled just a bit higher to slip inside her underwear.

Lena stiffened in her seat, mouth dropping open as a greedy hand massaged her mound, fingers carding through the curly hairs and slipping down to play at her lips, bare skin to bare skin at last.

She could feel how embarrassingly wet Lena was for her now.

Her own nails dug into the seat and she chomped down at her lip, struggling not to let any noises free as cool fingers teased at her, gently pinching her clit between two of them and softly circling the swollen bundle with a third. Her hips jolted into the touch - she felt herself positively throbbing, wetness freely leaking from her overheated center.

“Relax,” she heard murmured next to her, the woman’s eyes never leaving the book in her lap.

“You can’t honestly expect me to bloody _relax_ like this can you?,” Lena whispered back, feeling her ears heat up.

“Relax,” the woman simply repeated, gently petting over her entrance now, three fingers smearing her wetness all over. The touches weren’t particularly focused, merely exploratory, taking her time to feel around Lena’s body and see how she reacted to every stroke.

Her stop came up unfortunately fast, somehow, and the woman withdrew her hand from Lena’s trousers, giving a pleased hum at the wetness glistening on them. Lena zipped herself up and stood on shaky legs, huffed out a goodbye, and exited the car.

When she looked back from the platform, she saw the woman take her sticky fingers into her mouth with a wink, and had to steady herself on a bin before her knees gave out.

The walk home was more of an uncomfortably wet waddle, and when she got to her flat, she fucked herself to exhaustion, the memory of heated golden eyes and smirking purple lips bringing her to climax quickly and often.

Things continued to escalate. Busy mornings saw Lena with her back pressed to the woman’s chest, an arm snaking around her waist to slide under her hoodie and work shirt, pinching and tugging at her nipples as she kept a white-knuckled grip on the overhead railing. Crowded evenings led to the same hand slipping into her underwear, idly rubbing at her clit from the front or easing fingers into her from behind, amused noises breathed against her ear.

The woman never seemed particularly dedicated to making her cum, only in feeling and fondling at her leisure - using her, when Lena wanted to feel particularly dirty about it. And though she never seemed to _try_ to make her cum, that isn’t to say she never succeeded, intentionally or not.

Lena remembers the first time she did, legs parted for her as they stood in the crowded train, the woman’s hand rubbing tight circles against her clit. She felt her nose at her ear, a sharp nip to the lobe following, a warm tongue brushing against the helix piercings finally tipping her over the edge. An embarrassing gush of wetness dripped from her as she sucked in a sharp breath and trembled, those long, clever fingers sweeping down to feel as her chuckle rumbled against her back.

“Cute,” the woman had said, pressing a kiss to the delicate skin behind her burning ear.

She had only whimpered in response.

It was common after these occurrences to find her sucking her fingers clean, full painted lips smirking around the wet digits. It never got any less hot.

* * *

 

For the past three months, Amélie Lacroix has been enjoying her commute to and from her steady job as senior photo editor at the internet tabloid and media conglomerate known as Talon.

Public transportation has never been her ‘thing’, too crowded and sweaty and _nobody seems to be aware of what deodorant is,_ but it’s the price you pay when you live in the city. What else would she do, _drive?_   Ridiculous. She would take the hassle of the subway over beating her head against a steering wheel during rush hour any day.

Luckily, recent developments have made the ride much more bearable.

For the past three months, Amélie Lacroix has been flirting with an adorable British girl on her way to and from work.

... Perhaps that isn’t the best term.

For the past three months, Amélie Lacroix has been _surreptitiously groping_ an adorable British girl on her way to and from work.

When she entered Talon headquarters that first day with a faint smile, she was waylaid en route to her office by the current technology editor and longtime pain in her ass, Sombra.

“Did you fire someone? You have that look on your face like you just ruined someone’s day.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Amélie snapped, the smile immediately dropping from her face, “I just walked in.”

Sombra shrugged and followed her to her office, much to Amélie’s irritation. At least she closed the door behind her.

“Just saying, the last time I saw you looking like that, someone was holding a box of their belongings and crying on their way out of the building. Did you get laid?”

Amélie rolled her eyes and sat at her desk, keeping her face neutral as she logged into her computer. “Don’t you have a job to do, Sombra?,” she asked boredly.

“Ay dios mio, you _did_ get laid!,” Sombra replied with a cackle, sitting across her desk from her. “Who was she? I need details and you know I’ll find out eventually. Better to tell me now than wait for me to find her in your phone.”

“I did not ‘get laid’ and I do not have her number. And do _not_ touch my phone. I... met someone. If I tell you, will you _leave?_ ”

Sombra gave her an innocent look, batting her eyes. “Of _course_ , amiga _._ ”

She regretted sharing immediately.

At least she’s respected enough to not have anyone come knocking at the sound of explosive laughter from her office.

“Stop _hooting_ , imbécile.”

“You’re a _train groper!_ Mija, that’s the funniest shit I’ve ever heard, and she was _into it!_ That’s amazing. You don’t even know her name?”

“Non. There was not much opportunity for it.”

“Too busy feeling up her concha, I understand.”

“ _Stop_.”

Sombra held her hands up in mock surrender, still giggling. “Are you going to see her again? I can’t believe you didn’t even get her number.”

Amélie frowned. “I don’t know. Her stop was before mine. Perhaps tomorrow morning, if I’m lucky. A shame, she was... cute.”

Her thoughts drifted back to that morning and the sweet stranger as Sombra grinned and stood from her desk.

“She sounds cute. And kinky. Get her number or something next time, pervertida. And I need those photos for the Overwatch article by this afternoon, preferably without any suspicious fluids on them, so wash your hands and get to work.”

Amélie gave her the finger as she left her office laughing.

* * *

 

It took her three months, but she finally got her name and number.

Not that she asked.

It was evening and she had been impatiently waiting the two stops for the Bouncy Brit, as Sombra had affectionately nicknamed her, to get on. The train slowed, the doors opened, and amidst the post-work wave of people pushing in, she spotted her. Amélie didn’t notice her shoulders instantly relax, nor the small smile that worked itself onto her face.

“Bonsoir,” she murmured as the girl took her usual place in front of her and grabbed onto the overhead railing.

“Heya! Have a good day, love?” She shot a smile at Amélie over her shoulder, flirtatiously rubbing herself against her front. Amélie slid an arm around her waist, lips meeting her ear as she looked forward once more. To anyone who bothered to look, they seemed a normal couple.

“Better now, chérie.”

The train hissed back into motion, entering a tunnel on the way to the next stop, and Amélie used the brief darkness to work her hand underneath her baggy sweatshirt and into her tights and underwear, giving an appreciative hum at the warmth and slickness that greeted her.

She felt like going slow, lazily dragging her fingers through her folds and petting at her clit. Her thumb gently brushed along bristly trimmed hair, and not for the first time, Amélie wondered how she looked beneath her clothes. Was it the same color hair, or darker? Did she flush a pretty red like her ears? She rolled her swollen clit between her fingers and tried to picture it, perhaps a soft pink when it peeked past the hood.

The nearly inaudible whimper dragged her from her thoughts - fortunate, considering it was followed by an uncharacteristic question she had to strain to hear, barely whispered above the noise of the train.

“D’you wanna get off at my stop and maybe fool around in the loos for a bit?”

Her hand paused. She saw her companion swallow and look up at the ads lining the car as she chewed at her cheek, clearly nervous as she awaited an answer.

It was horribly endearing.

“Oui,” Amélie finally responded, returning to her gentle petting. She felt more than heard the sigh of relief the girl let out, the urge to soothe her nerves surprising in its intensity as it washed over her. Amélie kissed softly at her neck and slowly swirled her fingers around her pulsing clit, pleased when she saw the smile return to her face.

She refused to acknowledge her own atypical behavior, focusing instead of the subtle rock of the Brit’s hips against her hand until they reached her stop.

Amélie removed her hand swiftly as the train slowed, dismayed to have to wipe her slippery fingers on the inside of the girl’s jumper - she’d grown to like her routine of tasting her over the past few months, but it wouldn’t do to draw attention to her actions as they left.

A warm hand linked fingers with her own and she let herself be led towards the closed door of the ladies’ washroom near the platform, surprisingly quiet as they entered despite the bustle of evening traffic outside.

“Noticed nobody really comes in here around this time - too busy tryin’ to get home, I guess.”

Her voice bounced off the tiles, as charmingly chipper as ever, and she turned to stare face to face with Amélie.

“... So..,” the girl awkwardly started, eyes wandering along her body as she stepped towards her; up close, they seemed to sparkle despite the terrible fluorescent lighting.

Whatever she might have been about to say, Amélie cut it off with a press of her lips to hers, reaching up to cup her cheeks as she backed her against the bathroom sinks. She treasured the happy sigh her partner let out in response, as well as the hands that hesitantly fell to her hips.

It was nice to finally kiss her.

Her lips were soft and moved easily against her own, the taste of coffee strong on her tongue as her own teased into her mouth. Soft smacking noises filled the room as they kissed, occasionally punctuated with a sigh or a hum and the quiet shift of fabric as they moved against each other.

Amélie wedged her thigh between hers, able to feel her heat even through the layers of clothing separating them, and moaned quietly as the hands at her hips slid lower to grope at her for a change. Her partner broke the kiss, panting softly, and Amélie’s lips trailed down her jaw to her throat as she spoke.

“You’re so _hot_ ,” she breathed out, whimpering as Amélie nipped at her neck. “Um, I’m Lena. Lena Oxton. Figured I should introduce myself after so long, yeah?”

The name prickled at Amélie’s memory - why did it sound familiar?

“Amélie,” she appropriately responded, now kissing up to her ear, “Amélie Lacroix.”

Lena froze underneath her. Amélie pulled back, curious. The confusion only grew at her look of... outrage?

“Amélie Lacroix, of that bloody tabloid rag Talon?”

She frowned, eyebrows drawing together. It wasn’t often she got recognized by name; usually only those that worked in the industry even knew who she was.

With a sudden clarity, she remembered where she had heard the name Lena Oxton before.

If Amélie was concerned by Lena’s reaction, Lena was doubly so concerned by hers.

She started _laughing._

It echoed in the washroom, throaty and loud, but she couldn’t help it.

Of course.

Of _course._

Sombra was going to pee herself laughing when she found out.

“Oi, what’re you havin’ a giggle for?” Lena sniffed and crossed her arms over her chest, pouting as Amélie just kept laughing. “It’s not that funny!”

“Oh, chérie, but it _is_ ,” she eventually managed out. “You work for Overwatch, no? I remember your little piece in response to our article now. So _angry_ that Talon would dare criticize the shining bastion of journalistic integrity you work for... and their photo editor has been anonymously _fucking you_ on the metro for _months_.”

She watched the tips of Lena’s ears turn red, a wide range of emotions flickering over her features before she settled on irritation. Her hands at least settled back onto Amélie’s hips.

“Well the article was _rude,_ especially when it was coming from the likes of you! Almost as bad as the Daily Mail, you lot. Glass houses, yeah? Even if you might’ve been right about the nepotism.”

Amélie still chuckled, brushing her thumb against Lena’s warm, freckled cheek.

“Did you still wish to fool around, or has my reputation spoiled our arrangement?”

“... Well I wouldn’t go _that_ far, I mean, you’re just the photo editor, not like you’re slinging the shit sensationalism yourself, you just do the pictures,” she babbled, pulling Amélie closer with a slowly growing smile. “... Even if you do work with a load of arseholes that wouldn’t know proper journalism if it danced naked on your printing presses.”

“I’ll be sure to pass along your critique,” Amélie murmured, already leaning back in to busy her mouth with her own.

Lena huffed but sank into the kiss eagerly, groaning as Amélie sucked at her lower lip and pressed her thigh against her once more. The heat that had died down was quick to start up again, stoked further by the fingers tangling in Lena’s hair and the sharp bite to Amélie’s lip. They rocked against each other, hands wandering, soft noises passing between them until Lena pulled away minutes later, chest heaving.

“Seriously, though, how do you work for a company like Talon? They’re nothing but yellow journalism and clickbait.”

Amélie stared at her, unamused, her hands dropping to Lena’s waist.

“Are you really attempting to have this conversation right now, chérie?”

“I just don’t understand why _anyone_ would want to work for them! I don’t mean to whinge, really, I just don’t get it, love,” Lena said, pouting up at her. Apparently she _was_ trying to have that conversation at the present moment.

“Then it will unfortunately be a very one-sided discussion for now,” Amélie replied, hooking her fingers underneath her tights and peeling them, and her drenched panties, down to her ankles as she knelt in front of her. Lena’s oversized sweater still covered her, hanging nearly to mid-thigh, and Amélie growled as she looked up at it.

“Take that off.”

Lena was quick to do so, blushing brightly as it slipped over her head and left her in nothing but a thin orange camisole.

“Here, at least put this under your knees, who knows what’s happened to this floor,” she mumbled, offering the discarded sweater to Amélie.

“Merci,” she distantly replied, eyes drawn between her legs as she tucked the sweater under her knees. Her hands dragged along the insides of Lena’s thighs, nudging them open wider as the musky, mouth-watering scent of her arousal filled the room.

Amélie leaned forward, groaning softly as she nuzzled at the soft, dark hair of her mound. Pretty. Perfect. Better than she imagined.

“Une beauté,” she murmured, pressing a kiss just above her clit.

“Um, thanks,” Lena breathed, eyes wide as she watched. “Probably shouldn’t hang around here too long though oh _fuck_.”

While she was still speaking, Amélie’s thumbs had parted her lips and her tongue had dragged right through her folds.

The taste was even better directly from the source.

“Oh, _Amélie_ ,” the smaller woman sighed out, hips rocking against her mouth as she lapped at her core. The sound of her name leaving her lips sparked heat low in her belly, arousal thudding through her veins as Lena overwhelmed her senses - she wanted nothing more than to hear it again, and again, and again.

She pressed an encouraging moan to her heated flesh, rubbing her lips against her clit to bully it from its hood and suckle at the throbbing bundle of nerves. Her tongue circled it, teasing, before flicking against it sharply.

“ _Amélie_ ,” Lena cried out again, grabbing onto the sink, “Yes, _fuck_ that’s good, Amélie, _please_.”

Her tongue swept against her entrance again, arousal trickling into her mouth. Amélie swallowed down the taste and returned to battering her clit, slurping obscenely with her efforts.

“Oh _fuck,_ Amélie,” Lena panted, hips jerking at the sensations, eyes struggling to stay open and watch. Months of buildup had her wound tight, orgasm on a hair trigger that Amélie couldn’t help but bulldoze right over, and much sooner than either of them would have liked, they found her wailing Amélie’s name.

Before she even had a chance to catch her breath, Amélie dug two fingers inside of her to rub at her inner walls, lips still sealed around her clit.

“Oh, oh, _oh, fuck, oh,_ _Amélie!”_ Lena flung her head back, riding the fingers buried inside of her as she gasped for air. Months of _practice_ had made Amélie deadly accurate even with the change in angle, each thrust slamming into the spot that made Lena struggle to keep quiet on a good day; now, here, with Amélie’s mouth hot against her, tongue slick against her sensitized clit, she could only hoarsely yell as her second climax crashed into her soon after the first. Her walls milked at Amélie’s fingers with every spasm, wetness trickling down her wrist, the thrusts only slowing as she dragged out every aftershock she could.

Amélie had every intention to keep going, but the desperate pants of, “Stop, love, stop, I can’t,” made her pull away, fingers stilled inside of her.

“You are done? So soon?” She pressed a kiss to Lena’s trembling thigh as she asked, yellow eyes teasing as they met hers from between her legs.

“ _Christ,_ Amélie, give a girl a chance to _breathe_. I need to be able to walk out of here, y’know.” Lena shuddered as her fingers pulled out entirely, letting out a soft moan as they tenderly pressed at her aching folds.

“If you insist,” Amélie said with a smirk.

The banter between them screeched to a halt at a knock on the restroom door.

“Uh, you ladies alright in there?,” a muffled voice called from the outside. “Got some reports of, uh, screaming?”

Amélie bit her lip to stifle her laughter as Lena flushed a brilliant shade of red.

“We’re all good in here, thanks! Be out in a bit!,” Lena called out, immediately burying her face in her hands. “This is your fault,” she mumbled, shooting an accusing glare through her fingers at Amélie as she stood.

“I didn’t know you would be so loud, chérie. You’re always so quiet for me on the subway,” she purred in response, sucking her own messy fingers into her mouth.

“Fucking _hell._ You know that’s unfairly hot, yeah? I mean, everything about you is, but that specifically is just _really_ unfair,” Lena huffed, bending down to pull her bottoms back up.

“Oui,” Amélie simply replied, taking the opportunity to wash her hands at the sink and wipe off the remnants of her lipstick as Lena put herself back together. She admired the smears of it along Lena’s neck in the mirror as she straightened up; seeing her marked with her color was undeniably attractive.

“So um, here’s my number,” Lena suddenly said, “Thought you might like to have it.” She offered her a scrap of paper retrieved from the pockets of her sweater, her name and an appropriate series of digits scrawled on it. Amélie took it with a smile.

“Merci. I will text you on my way home so you may have mine as well.”

“Aces! This was, um, _fun_ , to put it mildly. I’d like to return the favor sometime - I reckon I owe you about a hundred orgasms by my count anyway.” Lena sheepishly rubbed the back of her neck as she met Amélie’s gaze, sweater slung over a shoulder.

“Perhaps we can arrange something,” Amélie agreed, smirking as her companion gave her a grin and headed for the door.

“Excellent. Seeya tomorrow, same as usual?”

“Oui, ma belle. But before you go...”

“Hm?”

Amélie reached out to tug Lena close once more, nose brushing against hers as she cupped her cheek. She hesitated, just for a moment, before leaning in and giving her a gentle peck.

“Bonsoir, Lena,” she murmured, lips grazing hers as she spoke, leaving Lena stunned as she left the washroom.

“Night, Amélie,” Lena faintly called after her, heart thudding in her chest at the unexpectedly tender action.

As she walked the rest of the way home, her phone buzzed with a text.

 

**[UNKNOWN NUMBER]**

Sweet dreams, chérie.

* * *

 

A few months later finds Lena hovering over Winston’s desk with a folder full of papers in hand.

“ _Please_ , Winston?”

“Lena, does she even know you’re doing this?”

“Well, no, but I thought she might be more likely to jump ship if there was an offer on the table already!” She gives him a grin, wiggling the folder in his face.

“That’s not how interviews work,” he sighs.

“Aw come on, big guy, at _least_ take a look. I promise she’s qualified, and ever since Jack got the boot and we all shifted around, we’ve needed a new photo editor. No offense to Jamie, I’m sure he’s trying his best, but, well, you know. ”

A loud crash echoes throughout the building, the both of them wincing at the sound. Winston sighs again, removing his glasses and rubbing at the bridge of his nose before replacing them.

“Fine, I will take a _look_ at her résumé, but you need to tell her you’re doing this.”

Lena beams, kissing the top of his furry head as she drops the folder into his outstretched hands. “Deal,” she says as he begins to flip through the pages.

“... Why are there so many headshots?”

“Photo editor, love. And wouldn’t you, if you looked like her?” Her eyebrows bounce. The particular shot he’s looking at now is one of her personal favorites, but she always loves it when her hair is down.

“... That’s fair,” he grumbles in response, trying not to smile as Lena giggles and heads for the door. “Oh, and Lena?”

She pauses on her way out of his office, looking back at him curiously. “Yeah?”

“If she _is_ hired, no sex in the office, please.”

“Sure thing, Winston,” she grins out with a wink, swinging open the door. Another crash sounds from across the building.

“I mean it, Lena,” he sternly calls after her.

“Sorry, mate, can’t hear you! Gotta go help Jamie out!”

“Lena!”

**Author's Note:**

> bonus! rejected titles:  
> -getting off at her stop  
> -round trip  
> -down the g line  
> -red riding rails  
> -grip that pole  
> -quality commuting  
> -no one talks on the train anymore  
> -cummute  
> -.............................beef.......................... stew
> 
> possum - Yesterday at 9:17 PM  
> also help me come up with a title that doesn't suck shit pls  
> bunny - Yesterday at 9:23 PM  
> What Kind of Idiot Would Ride A Train You Can't Fuck?  
> possum - Yesterday at 9:23 PM  
> no.  
> that did make me laugh a lot though


End file.
